Nobody Suspects the Butterfly
by Nekonezume
Summary: A short story about Sailor Cocoon/Sailor Heavy Metal Papillon (from the manga). Please read!


Nobody Suspects The Butterfly, Sailor Moon fanfic  
  
©2001 This story was written by Katie (oh sure! Like I'll give you my last name!). It is   
totally 100% fictional, which is why it's a fanfic! If you wanna use it on your webpage, then   
you must e-mail me at katiec@nb.sympatico.ca. If I find my fanfic on your page without my   
permission, then I will personally kill you. Have a nice day :P!  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sailor Moon, so don't sue me if you are an official from Kodnasha or  
whatever, I'm an innocent fan!  
  
NOTES: For those of you who don't know who Sailor Heavy Metal Papillon is, she's an Anima Mate  
from the Sailormoon manga, but wasn't in the anime (a shame really, she was an awesome character).  
She tried to kill Princess Kakyuu, Eternal Sailormoon, and Sailor Chibi Chibi, but was killed when  
Princess Kakyuu became Sailor Kakyuu, then killed her. This is a brief fanfic I wrote about her,  
because she's such a cool character. Before she was Sailor Heavy Metal Papillon, though, she was  
Sailor Cocoon. That's who she is in this story.  
  
Nobody Suspects The Butterfly  
  
  
  
Lonely.  
That's what I am, lonely. Single. Alone. Solitary. Solitary as... as a butterfly, perhaps? Yes,  
yes that makes sense. For, I am a butterfly, am I not? Well, I suppose I am. But what good is   
being a butterfly if you don't have another butterfly to be with?  
But I am surrounded by butterflies.  
To the left, butterflies.  
To the right, butterflies.  
To the front, to the back, underneath me, everywhere! Butteflies!  
But they are not worthy.  
"Let me explain to you," I say aloud. "You are not the right company. You don't belong here!" I  
become angry, grabbing every butterfly in sight and removing its wings, then violently throwing  
them to the ground. They all die. Yet, more seem to come. From where? I don't know. They seem to  
be errupting from the ground, all swooping toward me with revenge and hate.  
But what can I do? I'm the senshi of souls, am I not?  
Why am I killing these butterflies?  
I duck, and crouch low to the ground. "I'M SORRY!" I scream. I pound my fist into the ground,  
starting to cry. But why this sudden surge of emotion? "SORRY! SORRY! SORRY!" The butterflies  
stop.  
But... am I really sorry? Am I mad at myself for not living up to my title? Souls. I've gotten  
rid of several. Butterfly souls. But isn't that what's important to me? Butterflies? I stand. I  
extend my hand, and a small butterfly lands on my palm. I almost toy with the fact of killing it,  
but why?  
Am I insane? I must be. The butterfly is speaking to me...  
"Tell me the truth, Sailor Cocoon. Do you REALLY want to kill me?" It says. What? A talking   
butterfly? But that's absurd!  
...I am a talking butterfly.  
"Yes! I want to tear your wings off!" I scream. I frantically grab for the tiny purple butterfly  
on my hand, but it flies off. It laughs, mocking me.  
"I fear you're too slow, Sailor Cocoon." It says. I spit at it.  
"Curse you," I hiss. I ready my attack, but the butterfly dodges. It laughs again. I am angry.  
"SHUT UP!" I scream. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" I fall to my knees. The butterfly lands on my  
head.  
"What if I told you, you're not alone?" It says. I pause, and look up, squinting to see it.  
"I'm listening," I say.  
"Well," the butterfly continues. "I can be your friend." I laugh.  
"A butterfly!" I exclaim. "A butterfly! My friend! I don't think so."  
"Why not?" The butterfly says. "We can talk about whatever you want." I shake my head.  
"That's impossible." I say. "Butterflies aren't capable of speech." The butterfly chuckles.  
"But you're talking to me, aren't you?" I pause.   
"No. I am insane. Nobody is talking to me. I'm talking to myself, in my own mind." The butterfly  
laughs once more, annoying me further.  
"I am talking to you, Sailor Cocoon. Come now, don't be so disbelieving. You don't believe that  
butterflies can speak, yet you are like a butterfly yourself. You speak." I sigh, and stand.  
"I suppose you're right." The butterfly flies in front of me, then lands on my nose.  
"There, now. What do you want to talk about?"  
  
We engage in our own conversation for awhile. I suppose it's true what they say.  
Nobody suspects the butterfly.   
  
  
  
I'm thinking of making a series about the Anima Mates, so this might grow. We'll soon see. 


End file.
